"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." - Katharine Hepburn

Sunday, 10 December 2006

Lost in Translation

While I was in London, my latest Bonjour Paris column hit the virtual newsstand, entitled "Lost in Translation", where I talk about some of my frustrations with the language barrier. After I submitted this article, I was talking with La Page Française about the language challenges and she described it perfectly as there being basically two ways or levels of speaking French: communicating which is what you do to survive; and then there is being able to express yourself, which is a whole other level. What I'm doing now is communicating, and overall doing a fair job at it. But it's going to be a long, long time until I'm really able to express myself well in French with any real flair.

How do you make a life for yourself in a country where you are not
fluent in the language? That’s the challenge I’m facing more and more
each day here in Paris.

I do speak French. Well, I speak SOME French, enough to deal with
shopping and asking directions, and to observe the niceties of greeting
people. I’ve had virtually no problems getting around through basic
daily life with my current French skills. And I’ve been told my accent
is excellent, which probably accounts for why so few French people have
felt compelled to switch over to English after I say something in
French.

But after a while, things happen that require better language skills
than, “I’ll take some of THAT, please” (while gesturing to what you
want) and “Is the Métro to the left or the right?”

Last week, I was invited to join my future landlords for their
Thanksgiving dinner. She’s American, a New Yorker, and he’s French, and
she asked me to come to dinner when she learned I was new in town and
had no plans for the holiday. The other guests consisted of their friends and
family, a mix of French and American. Everyone there spoke English but
not all were fluent, so the conversation was very often in rapid-fire
French. There was no way I could keep up with all of it, so instead I
just decided to observe and see how much I could understand. Dinner was
delicious and everyone was very nice, and I wasn’t totally left out of
things because some of the talk was in English. But clearly, my dinner
party conversation skills are going to need a lot of work if I end up
spending time with many French people!

Then there’s television. If I didn’t have access to CNN International
and the BBC, plus my internet news feeds from the New York Times, I
wouldn’t know what was going on in the world, because when I watch
French news I’m only able to pick up maybe every fifth word, and that’s
on a good day. And watching reruns of “Will and Grace” just doesn’t
feel the same when they’ve been dubbed over en français and pronounced
“Weel et Grahs”. At least there is BBCPrime, which broadcasts a variety
of British programs ranging from decorating and gardening shows to
soaps, comedies and medical dramas, so I can get some entertainment in
English.

But today, I got something in the mail that has me scratching my head.
It’s from UPS and appears to be some sort of customs form or invoice
related to the very costly box of stuff I shipped just before I came
over to Paris. When the box arrived, there were additional customs
charges payable on the spot at 26,50 Euros, and I thought that was the
end of it. Until I got this form, which is all in French and a complete
mystery to me, as it seems to be telling me there’s now a VAT tax
charge of 11,00 Euros. I was able to make out one sentence that says
it’s NOT an invoice, but is an invoice on its way? Do I have to call
someone or go somewhere to pay it, or will it be charged to my credit
card on file with UPS in America? I have absolutely no idea. On the
back is an entire page of customs gibberish, but even with a French
dictionary, no where can I really make out why I got this document or
what I’m supposed to do with it.

I located a phone number on the bottom of the page, and called it. All
I got was a message (in French) stating that the customer service
number had changed (I understood THAT much) and giving the new number
in super-fast French that I never did understand despite three
additional calls to listen to the recording again.

Next, I decided to try the UPS website, and thank goodness their
website for France is available in both French and English! I was able
to locate the correct customer service number but also then realized
it’s a toll number to the tune of 12 centimes per minute, so I decided
to try emailing UPS with my question about the document, and I’m now
awaiting a reply. I’m hoping I don’t have to call them, as I will then
have to try to explain to them in French what I need and will have to
hope there is an English-speaking customer service person that can help
me.

I can see that fluency in French is going to be necessary for me to
function well here. It’s also going to be a long time in coming. It’s
sinking in: I am now an immigrant. This is but the tip of the
proverbial iceberg for me, in terms of frustrations with living in a
country where my language skills need work. Patience will never be more
of a virtue than while I’m living in France; that is becoming
abundantly clear. My American drive to get things done quickly and
efficiently will be sorely tested, as the French have their own way of
doing things that is often neither quick nor efficient, whether I like
it or not.

But I’m in their country. I chose to just barge in here, unannounced
and uninvited; therefore I have to play by their rules (provided I can
even figure out the rules!)

And while I’m sometimes frustrated with not being able to communicate
fully, I do love hearing the language spoken everywhere I go, and I
love speaking it, the way it flows off the tongue so beautifully. Even
after just these few short weeks, it is already beginning to sound odd
to me to be walking down the street and suddenly hear some Americans or
Brits chatting away together.

When I was a mere tourist on prior trips to Paris and heard some fellow
Americans speaking, I might have been tempted to say hello or even join
in the conversation. Now I just say nothing and let them think I’m
French, and when I’m out and about I always start by trying to speak
French first. After all, I don’t want to be mistaken for just another
tourist anymore. I LIVE here now!

And I know I’ve succeeded in blending in with the locals when tourists
attempt to ask me for directions in their own halting French… and when
I actually start to respond to them IN FRENCH. Then I remember who I
am, take pity on them and watch the relief on their faces when I revert
back to English (“Oh, you’re American! Thank God!”) This happened to me
several times yesterday while wandering around Père Lachaise cemetery
on a rare sunny November day, where I encountered several people all
searching for the same thing—Jim Morrison, of course—and all of us
feeling totally lost.

Not just in the cemetery, but in the language barriers, too. Because
let’s face it, nothing is more unnerving that not being able to
communicate. N’est-ce pas?

Suffice to say, it was nice to be in London for two days where my biggest language problem was understanding that in England, chips are fries and crisps are chips, and it's best to know which you want with your burger before you order.

Comments

Lost in Translation

While I was in London, my latest Bonjour Paris column hit the virtual newsstand, entitled "Lost in Translation", where I talk about some of my frustrations with the language barrier. After I submitted this article, I was talking with La Page Française about the language challenges and she described it perfectly as there being basically two ways or levels of speaking French: communicating which is what you do to survive; and then there is being able to express yourself, which is a whole other level. What I'm doing now is communicating, and overall doing a fair job at it. But it's going to be a long, long time until I'm really able to express myself well in French with any real flair.

How do you make a life for yourself in a country where you are not
fluent in the language? That’s the challenge I’m facing more and more
each day here in Paris.

I do speak French. Well, I speak SOME French, enough to deal with
shopping and asking directions, and to observe the niceties of greeting
people. I’ve had virtually no problems getting around through basic
daily life with my current French skills. And I’ve been told my accent
is excellent, which probably accounts for why so few French people have
felt compelled to switch over to English after I say something in
French.

But after a while, things happen that require better language skills
than, “I’ll take some of THAT, please” (while gesturing to what you
want) and “Is the Métro to the left or the right?”

Last week, I was invited to join my future landlords for their
Thanksgiving dinner. She’s American, a New Yorker, and he’s French, and
she asked me to come to dinner when she learned I was new in town and
had no plans for the holiday. The other guests consisted of their friends and
family, a mix of French and American. Everyone there spoke English but
not all were fluent, so the conversation was very often in rapid-fire
French. There was no way I could keep up with all of it, so instead I
just decided to observe and see how much I could understand. Dinner was
delicious and everyone was very nice, and I wasn’t totally left out of
things because some of the talk was in English. But clearly, my dinner
party conversation skills are going to need a lot of work if I end up
spending time with many French people!

Then there’s television. If I didn’t have access to CNN International
and the BBC, plus my internet news feeds from the New York Times, I
wouldn’t know what was going on in the world, because when I watch
French news I’m only able to pick up maybe every fifth word, and that’s
on a good day. And watching reruns of “Will and Grace” just doesn’t
feel the same when they’ve been dubbed over en français and pronounced
“Weel et Grahs”. At least there is BBCPrime, which broadcasts a variety
of British programs ranging from decorating and gardening shows to
soaps, comedies and medical dramas, so I can get some entertainment in
English.

But today, I got something in the mail that has me scratching my head.
It’s from UPS and appears to be some sort of customs form or invoice
related to the very costly box of stuff I shipped just before I came
over to Paris. When the box arrived, there were additional customs
charges payable on the spot at 26,50 Euros, and I thought that was the
end of it. Until I got this form, which is all in French and a complete
mystery to me, as it seems to be telling me there’s now a VAT tax
charge of 11,00 Euros. I was able to make out one sentence that says
it’s NOT an invoice, but is an invoice on its way? Do I have to call
someone or go somewhere to pay it, or will it be charged to my credit
card on file with UPS in America? I have absolutely no idea. On the
back is an entire page of customs gibberish, but even with a French
dictionary, no where can I really make out why I got this document or
what I’m supposed to do with it.

I located a phone number on the bottom of the page, and called it. All
I got was a message (in French) stating that the customer service
number had changed (I understood THAT much) and giving the new number
in super-fast French that I never did understand despite three
additional calls to listen to the recording again.

Next, I decided to try the UPS website, and thank goodness their
website for France is available in both French and English! I was able
to locate the correct customer service number but also then realized
it’s a toll number to the tune of 12 centimes per minute, so I decided
to try emailing UPS with my question about the document, and I’m now
awaiting a reply. I’m hoping I don’t have to call them, as I will then
have to try to explain to them in French what I need and will have to
hope there is an English-speaking customer service person that can help
me.

I can see that fluency in French is going to be necessary for me to
function well here. It’s also going to be a long time in coming. It’s
sinking in: I am now an immigrant. This is but the tip of the
proverbial iceberg for me, in terms of frustrations with living in a
country where my language skills need work. Patience will never be more
of a virtue than while I’m living in France; that is becoming
abundantly clear. My American drive to get things done quickly and
efficiently will be sorely tested, as the French have their own way of
doing things that is often neither quick nor efficient, whether I like
it or not.

But I’m in their country. I chose to just barge in here, unannounced
and uninvited; therefore I have to play by their rules (provided I can
even figure out the rules!)

And while I’m sometimes frustrated with not being able to communicate
fully, I do love hearing the language spoken everywhere I go, and I
love speaking it, the way it flows off the tongue so beautifully. Even
after just these few short weeks, it is already beginning to sound odd
to me to be walking down the street and suddenly hear some Americans or
Brits chatting away together.

When I was a mere tourist on prior trips to Paris and heard some fellow
Americans speaking, I might have been tempted to say hello or even join
in the conversation. Now I just say nothing and let them think I’m
French, and when I’m out and about I always start by trying to speak
French first. After all, I don’t want to be mistaken for just another
tourist anymore. I LIVE here now!

And I know I’ve succeeded in blending in with the locals when tourists
attempt to ask me for directions in their own halting French… and when
I actually start to respond to them IN FRENCH. Then I remember who I
am, take pity on them and watch the relief on their faces when I revert
back to English (“Oh, you’re American! Thank God!”) This happened to me
several times yesterday while wandering around Père Lachaise cemetery
on a rare sunny November day, where I encountered several people all
searching for the same thing—Jim Morrison, of course—and all of us
feeling totally lost.

Not just in the cemetery, but in the language barriers, too. Because
let’s face it, nothing is more unnerving that not being able to
communicate. N’est-ce pas?

Suffice to say, it was nice to be in London for two days where my biggest language problem was understanding that in England, chips are fries and crisps are chips, and it's best to know which you want with your burger before you order.

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